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can do."
    John said, "It also shows what the creative mind can conceive and do, with God's permission." She'd never really thought of God as being so personal. He'd perhaps brought John to her for a reason.
    For now, however, she put her hand on her chest to still her drumming heart.
    Her breath came fast. "Married on the most glamorous ship in the world." She laughed lightly. "Now who's a dreamer?"
    "No," he said. "I'm sure that can happen. I want you to have the best."
    He returned her smile. "I'll talk to the captain and see what can be done. We'll invite—" He waved his hands to encompass the earth. "Everyone."
    "Everyone," she repeated. He must know everyone meant those in first class.
    "Ohhhh," she moaned. "I don't have a wedding dress."
    "You're wearing a lovely white one right now."
    "It's a morning dress."
    He shrugged. "Morning. Night."
    She sighed. "Men." She waved her hand and wiggled her ring finger. "Go, John. Find out what we can do."
    He stood. He wanted to grab her and hold her and kiss those sweet lips. Soon they would be husband and wife. The thought was overwhelming.
    The look in her eyes reflected the longing he felt. He lifted her hand, gave it a proper gentleman's kiss.
    "I love you, Lydia."
    "I love you, John." She raised her hands to his face and pressed her lips against his, and they shared a deep, meaningful kiss. In his mind, in the mind of God, the sin was no more. Theirs was now a new love, a pure love.
    He moved away, and she clasped her hands on her lap.
    "We will soon be a family," he said.
    She nodded. Her eyes were moist. Or was he seeing her through the mist he felt in his own? With overwhelming love in his heart, he hastened from the room.

 
7
 
Saturday mid-morning, April 13, 1912
     
     
    J ohn thought he should tell Craven first. He'd get the negative out of the way so he could concentrate on the positive. He found him on the promenade deck sitting in a chair next to a gentleman Lydia had pointed out in Southampton. He was a steel tycoon with whom both the Beaumont Railroad and the White Star Line had done business.
    Craven introduced them as A. T. Fortone of Fortone Steel and John Ancell of toy trains.
    "Ah, yes." Fortone vigorously shook John's hand. "Actually, several of my grandchildren have been entertained for hours with your trains." He chuckled. "I admit I've had my turn at them."
    After the brief exchange of polite conversation, John addressed Craven. "I don't mean to intrude or interrupt. But when you have a free moment, I'd like to speak with you."
    "Of course," Craven said and rose. "Always business," he said to Fortone, who gave a knowing nod.
    Craven walked with John a few feet away, to a secluded spot at the railing and held out a cigarette case. John shook his head. He'd never seen Craven with a cigarette, only a cigar.
    "Is Lydia all right?" he asked, the cigarette held between his lips.
    John both appreciated and resented Craven's first thought being of Lydia. "This isn't anything negative. Quite the contrary, in fact."
    Craven took his lighter from his suit pocket, snapped it open, moved his thumb over the ragged wheel, then peered at John over the flame. He dragged on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke, which mingled with the aroma of fresh air and sea water. His raised eyebrows questioned John with a condescending tone, Well?
    John coughed lightly at the smoke in his throat. Or was it inhibition? He might as well come out with it. "Actually, Lydia and I are engaged to be married."
    He was not unprepared for the momentary silence during which Craven's nostrils flared minutely, and despite the intensity of those steel-gray eyes, this was one time John didn't avoid the stare.
    Craven's heavy drag on the cigarette turned the end into a smoldering red mass that burned along the white paper covering, leaving a black line and turning the tip to ash. Craven raised his chin and blew a ring of smoke that drifted out over the sea. Likely, he'd named it "John."
    John